


Potions and Constellations

by millijayne13



Series: Professor George Weasley [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Constellations, Cute, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fred Weasley Dies, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love, Male-Female Friendship, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Romantic Fluff, Stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28813416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millijayne13/pseuds/millijayne13
Summary: Summary: The job offer landed on George Weasley’s doormat on the second Tuesday in March. As he bent down to grab the thick, cream envelope, George knew immediately who it was from, having read the handwriting every summer from the ages of eleven to eighteen.
Relationships: George Weasley/Original Character(s), George Weasley/Original Female Character(s), George Weasley/Reader
Series: Professor George Weasley [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121045
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	Potions and Constellations

**Author's Note:**

> Professor George Weasley anyone? Originally posted on my Tumblr @iliveiloveiwrite
> 
> Warnings: mentions of grief, missing someone, pining, mutual pining, post!war, fred is dead.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a kudos and a comment if you enjoyed!

The job offer landed on George Weasley’s doormat on the second Tuesday in March. As he bent down to grab the thick, cream envelope, George knew immediately who it was from, having read the handwriting every summer from the ages of eleven to eighteen.

The letter then remained on the kitchen table for a week, going unanswered as George battled with his head and his heart. Teaching was never a profession George had wanted to undertake, but Professor McGonagall sounded adamant in her letter that he would make a worthy addition to the staff at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The war between his head and heart raged on and on. On one hand, he wanted to take the job. George was desperate for a change of scenery. The sight of the shop, no matter how loved it was, had become stale without Fred’s presence. However, how could he leave the legacy of his twin brother? How could he walk away from the walls that screamed Fred’s influence?

The decision is made by Ron. He stops by George’s flat two weeks after the letter first showed up. As brothers are wont to do, he nosed through the papers on George’s kitchen table before his eyes fell on the letter from McGonagall.

After that, a long and winding conversation took place between the two brothers who had grown closer after suffering the loss of a sibling. Ron explained that he would look after the shop; that George could always come back in the school holidays and the odd weekend to check in. The shop wouldn’t be the same without him, Ron admitted, but he made sure to tell his older brother that he would live to regret not taking the opportunity McGonagall was offering.

So that was that.

George replied that very afternoon; accepting the job that would start that September and offering his apologies for how long it had taken to reply.

\----

Over the course of the last four years, Molly has cried exactly four times. In one year, she cried twice. Once out of fear for her husband’s life, and then again over the lifeless body of her darling boy.

After that, Molly very rarely cried, feeling as if there was nothing else that could draw out her tears. That is, until George turned up at the Burrow holding the letter written from the new Headmistress of Hogwarts; the very one offering him a teaching position.

She had cried out of joy and out of fear. She couldn’t help but be scared for her son; returning to where his twin brother died. It took a different sort of bravery to return to such a place, but for George, she would be brave.

George moved to Hogwarts in the last week of August, wanting to settle into his quarters before getting to know the students he would be teaching. All through it, he thinks of Fred, wondering and wondering whether his twin resides with the ghosts of the enchanted castle.

He doesn’t let himself dwell on the though, not wanting to be disappointed when the ghosts return to school when the students return. Instead, George focuses on getting his classroom ready. Being asked to teach Potions was no small feat, and whilst he had little to none teaching experience, he felt confident he could pull this off.

\-----

It had been an age since you had last clapped eyes on George Weasley. It was completely possible in that time that he had grown another foot, towering above the students. His robes were just as colourful as the last time you had seen him; the fabric settling around him comfortably as if he was made for a teaching role.

Everything about him has changed, yet he still remains the same. The corner of his eyes now have the beginnings of wrinkles lining their corners; they become more prominent as a large smile breaks across his face, his gaze solely directed on you as George shuffles through the throng of students, stopping in front of your seat at the staff table.

“It’s been…” He starts, a breathtaking smile taking over his face.

“Years,” You finish, cutting him off in one breath.

He smiles, and your heart starts to race uncontrollably. “How have you been?” He asks, voice genuine, eyes bright.

You fiddle with the sleeve of your dark blue robes, representing your house in the sorting ceremony. “I’ve been good,” You murmur, casting your gaze across the Great Hall, taking in the faces of the new students who you would be leading through their magical education. “How have you been, George? I know you’ve had a rough couple of years.”

George frowns, nodding, “It hasn’t been easy, but we all came together as a family and helped one another.”

Silence falls between you both; minds wandering back to that fateful night all those years ago when the school suffered the worst of crimes. So many lost in such a short amount of time; so many lost and the school was still feeling their absence. More ghosts wandered the halls of Hogwarts now, each one becoming a guiding light for the students who were fortunate enough not to know a magical society divided by blood status and family names.

“How long have you been teaching?” George queries, shifting the subject away from the grief that still ravages his soul.

“Since the end of the war. McGonagall offered me the position once Hogwarts had finished reconstruction,” You answer, thinking back to the mild summer day that McGonagall’s offer landed on your doorstep. It had taken you less than an hour to decide; half an hour to reply, and a week to pack up your belongings and move.

George blows out a long breath, nodding as he does so. “What do you teach?”

You laugh, quirking an eyebrow, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get to know me.”

George laughs, holding his hands up in surrender, “That’s it – you’ve caught me red handed.”

You snort, rolling your eyes playfully at the man you haven’t seen in years. “I teach Astronomy,” You answer, gesturing to the silver moons and stars sewed into the hems of your robes.

“The only reason I remember those lessons was because of you,” George admits, briefly wondering whether he’s said too much in his first hour of seeing you again.

You duck your head, clearing your throat as you ignore the small voice in your head, reminding you of the teenage crush you had on the redhead all those years ago. Gesturing to the empty seat next to you, you offer George a seat, wanting to catch up more before the sorting ceremony begins and anxious First Years are settled into their houses.

George folds himself down in the seat next to you, immediately reaching for the pitcher of water, pouring a glass for you and him.

“George Weasley,” You tease, “You are a gentleman.”

He snorts, shaking his head, “Molly Weasley’s education was more thorough than anything else I’ve experienced.”

You hold your glass up, toasting the matriarch who you remember with nothing but fondness. George copies your movements, feeling a pang of homesickness as he thinks of the woman who had dedicated her life to her children, and who had experienced the incomparable loss of a child.

Quiet conversation is made between you; earning far more glares than deserved from Professor Flitwick as George makes you laugh so loud; your snort of humour is heard across the Great Hall.

Soon after, McGonagall dismisses the students, wanting them to get an early night, ready for the first full day of lessons tomorrow. As the students file out of the Great Hall, the Professors follow behind, ready to catch any stragglers.

As you turn to the stairs, fingers curl around your wrist, keeping you in place. Wide-eyed, you meet the fierce gaze of George Weasley. “Will I see you again?” He asks; the words blurring into a mess as he rushes to get them out.

You smile softly, nodding your head, “I’m sure you remember the way to the Astronomy classroom.”

George’s answering smile takes your breath away. Reluctantly, he lets go of your hand, breaking the connection between the two of you. Your whole body suddenly feels cold at the loss of contact, as if George’s touch set your whole being alight, bringing it back to life after so long lying dormant.

Turning from the redhead, you hurry away, your steps loud on the stone floor of the corridor. It’s a moment; that’s all – a simple moment, but you turn around, wanting one more look at him before you retire for the night and begin the new school year.

A moment: one moment to find that George is watching you go.

\-----

The last time George Weasley had seen the Astronomy Tower there had been fire and screams raging all around him. It had been a shock to return to the school after such a long absence. He never thought he would return; not after leaving his education, and not after losing Fred in the manner he did.

George didn’t think he would ever come back, but on a Friday night, three weeks after lessons start, he finds himself climbing the tower’s steep stairs.

He doesn’t say anything when he lands on the top step; taking a moment to catch his breath and silently admire your form by the telescope. You stare into the instrument intently, your mouth partly hung open as if in constant awe of what the night sky can offer.

Clearing his throat, George announces his presence politely, not wanting to scare you by remaining in silence.

“I was wondering when you were going to come see me,” You tease, eyes bright with happiness at the sight of your unexpected visitor, “I was beginning to think I would have to journey all the way to the dungeons to find you and coax you out.”

Despite himself, a laugh escapes him as he crosses his arms against the cold that rages through the tower and leans against the wall. “I would have come earlier, but I didn’t realise how much work goes into teaching,” He states, gesturing with his head to the piles of paper littering the floor, close to flying away in the wind.

“That isn’t school work,” You clarify, steeling yourself to be made fun of, “That’s my own research.”

“Your own research?”

You nod, “I want to write a book eventually, but it’s also ideas for future lessons.”

George huffs out a breath, thoroughly impressed at your devotion to your subject. He steps further into the tower, “I don’t think I could imagine loving a subject so much.”

“I like the stars,” You offer as explanation, “Did you enjoy it at school?”

“I dropped it after Fifth Year,” George admits sheepishly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck as he refuses to meet your eyes.

You laugh, shrugging off your teaching robes and depositing them on a nearby chair. “I never thought you were inclined towards the subject, George, don’t worry,” You snigger.

He rolls his eyes, “So what do you teach to Seventh Years?”

You grin, beginning to gesture wildly as you explain your long term plan for Seventh Year witches and wizards. In their final year at Hogwarts, witches and wizards develop their knowledge from Sixth Year by studying further constellations such as Orion the Hunter and Cygnus. “I like to focus on the stories behind the constellations. We focus on one constellation a week, and I round off the week by telling the story of the constellation to the students,” You round off, feeling your face begin to heat as you realise how long you have rambled about the stars.

George doesn’t seem too bothered, however. Instead, he looks rather bewitched by the idea of it. At this point, he wishes he had paid more attention in this particular class. “What constellation did you look at this week?” He asks, unable to stop himself, wanting to hear you talk more about the subject you find yourself so in love with.

“Perseus and Andromeda,” You reply, automatically pointing to the night sky

“I don’t know that one,” George admits, eyes scanning the sky to find the stars that make up the named constellation.

“Would you like to hear their story?”

“You know it?” George ask, feeling immediately silly for asking such a question, worried that he might have insulted you.

You laugh lightly, your smile lighting up your whole face. “Just as well as you know your potions. Don’t think I don’t know you’re smart, Weasley,” You laugh again when George’s face descends into a blush, “You would have had to have been good at the subject to make your skiving sweets.”

“I like Potions,” He admits, knowing full well that three weeks into teaching Potions, he could see him doing this until retirement. “Will you tell me the story?” He asks, desperate to know the story of Perseus and Andromeda.

You gesture to the blankets you keep piled on the floor, wanting somewhere comfier to sit when your back begins to protest the chair at your desk. George all but throws himself on the blankets, eagerly awaiting your retelling of a story he wishes he heard long ago.

Taking a deep breath, you begin, “Perseus was travelling back from killing Medusa when he found a princess chained to a rock in the ocean. For Perseus, it was love at first sight. He saw Andromeda and knew he was in love.

“Andromeda had been chained to the rock as punishment to Cassiopeia, her mother. Cassiopeia was so vain about her beauty, she claimed to be even more beautiful than the daughters of the God of the Sea, Poseidon.

“Poseidon, who was known for his short temper, reacted furiously. The God chained Andromeda to a rock in the sea and sent the sea monster, Cetus after her.

“Perseus was flying home on Pegasus, his winged horse when he came upon Andromeda just as she was about to be devoured. In a hurry, Perseus struck a deal with Cassiopeia and her husband, Cepheus. If Perseus saved Andromeda from Cetus, he would win the right to marry her.

“Unfortunately, the fates were not on their side. After Perseus slew the monster, he came to learn that Andromeda’s hand in marriage had already been promised to another man. Soon, the two men were locked in battle for the right to marry Andromeda. Perseus was initially outnumbered, but at the last moment, pulled out the head of Medusa and turned his opponent to stone.

“Perseus and Andromeda married soon after and lived to old age. When they died, the Gods placed them in the sky as a love story for the ages to come.”

“I think you’re incredible,” George breathes out when you finish the story, but he quickly backtracks when he realises exactly what has been said, “I mean… you’re incredible at your job. I remember you in class, and your love then shines through now.”

“Thank you,” You laugh, “Enough about me. I want to hear about you, George. Tell me about your joke shop in Diagon Alley.”

So he does. George regales to you tales of the shop; the customers he gets to meet. And the ones who have quickly become regulars. He tells you about Ron; how he stepped up after the war, choosing not to become an Auror and instead, help George run the shop. George admits his guilt over leaving Ron to run the shop alone, but he has utter blind faith in his younger brother and knows the shop will be fine.

He speaks of how odd it is to be back at Hogwarts without Fred; to be teaching Potions without Fred and living his life without his twin. The pain of Fred’s loss is still very much alive and evident in his voice as he falls into an inevitable silence, dragged into memories that pricked at his mind like thorns.

That evening, a friendship is forged between the two of you. Through your time at Hogwarts as a student, you had known of the Weasley Twins, and had spoken to both George and Fred on multiple occasions but had never found yourself being friends with them. Now, the beginning threads of a friendship have been weaved between you and George, and the both of you felt it was going to stick.

“Can I come back?” George asks out of the blue, breaking the comfortable silence.

You jump at the sudden sound of his voice but recover quickly. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t, Professor Weasley,” You smile, a joking tone to your voice.

He parts with one last smile, leaving you at the top of the stairs to the tower, your mind in a muddle. It was going to be one interesting friendship, you thought to yourself, staring at the space George stood only moments ago.

\-------

Winter falls into Spring, giving way to new blossoms and a new leash of life – even the Whomping Willow is serene enough to bask in the early morning sun, not wanting to thrash about angrily.

A friendship with George forms quickly; the two of you becoming dependant on each other much faster than you cared to admit. Every Friday evening, George would climb the stairs to the Astronomy Tower where you would both catch up on the week before he inevitably asks to be told a story from the stars.

Weeks passed where this was the routine. Sitting together at meals when your schedule allowed it; night classes meaning your sleep schedule was much different to other teachers. However, Friday evening would be dedicated for George.

Your feelings for George Weasley started slowly. It would be your heart beginning to race by being in his presence, a simple smile from him pulling you close to the edge. That was then followed by daydream after daydream; hopeless wonderings about the touch of his hands against your skin, and the feel of his mouth pressed against yours.

Countless times you had been pulled out of daydreams by students; each one of them knowing full well that the person on your mind had to be important to you to distract you from the stars and their stories.

They hit you full force when you interrupt his lesson on a Wednesday in February. Knocking gently on the classroom door, you had entered upon hearing George’s invitation.

His robe is discarded on his desk and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbow as George gestures animatedly, lecturing about the properties of powdered root of Asphodel in the Draught of Living Death.

The sight of him teaching; commanding the classroom, demanding the attention of every soul in the room – it has your breath quickening and your heart pounding in your chest. He paces the front of the classroom, keeping the attention of all students as he explains what the tasks for today’s lesson. His eyes are bright with passion, and his smile is great as he urges his class to simply try their best – they do not need to get it right the first time.

Upon noticing you stood by an empty desk, George flashes you a wide smile before sending the class off to gather their ingredients and heat their cauldrons. “To what do I owe this visit?” George asks, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets and leaning back against the desk.

You swallow thickly, ridding yourself of all thoughts to do with George and the desk and the outfit he is currently wearing. Regaining your composure, you smile shakily at the redhead, “What? You can visit me, but I can’t visit you?”

George laughs, “Of course not. You’re always welcome. We’re brewing Draught of Living Death. I’m sure you remember that lesson with Snape.”

You snort, “How could I forget? He used my brew as the perfect example for how not to use a cauldron. If I recall correctly, he called it an abuse to perfect potion brewing equipment. I had detention for two weeks!”

“Well” George states, barely repressed amusement sounding in his voice, “I remember your brew. There were very few things that Snape had right, but that was one.”

For a moment, you think he’s serious, but his famous smile soon spreads across his face and you have to repress the urge to jinx him in front of students. “Professor Weasley!” You gasp, faking offence.

George rolls his eyes, “You know it’s true.”

You wait a second before bursting into quiet laughter, trying not to disturb the working students. “It is true,” You giggle, “I was awful at Potions, but your class looks to be in good hands.”

He smiles softly, “So what did I do to deserve a visit from my favourite professor?”

“I’m your favourite?” You ask, placing a hand on your chest, touched.

“Only if I’m your favourite.”

“Then you’re my favourite, Weasley.”

He smiles; the grin lighting up his face as he shuffles on his feet, wondering what to say next that won’t make him look like a fool in front of his students.

Sixth Year Potions watch the exchange; their brews long forgotten as they observe their two favourite professors clearly flirt in front of them. Eyes meet across the room, and all students have the same thought – how long would it be until they got their act together?

\-----

Months pass.

Months pass, and you do not confess to your feelings.

Months pass, and something changes between the two of you. The friendship develops, becoming deeper, meaning something more to the both of you. You’re teetering on the edge of a knife, hands gripped tightly in the others as you try to decide which side you’re going to fall over.

It’s as if the both of you know that over the course of your short friendship, friendship would never be enough. It was as if you were destined for each other; George feeling understood by you in a way he hadn’t felt since Fred died.

Feelings remain unsaid; yearning growing inside the both of you until you simply push that boundary of your friendship further, becoming more comfortable with each other. It was hard to remain quiet on the subject when you often caught George’s eyes on you, watching you with an expression on his face that you’re sure is mirrored on your own.

\------

“Are you sure you want to hear tonight’s story?” You ask, a light note of concern in your voice as you watch George’s face for any reaction.

“What do I have to be worried about?” He asks, face adorable scrunched up as he peers through your telescope.

“It’s the story of Castor and Pollux,” You murmur gently, reaching a hand out to brush against the back of George’s hand gently.

George freezes. Somewhere, in the recesses of his mind, he knows those names. A brief memory washes over him; the astronomy tower, a flash of a Gryffindor tie and the sound of a laugh he hasn’t heard in nearing five years now.

“The Twins?” He whispers, voice hoarse as unexpected emotions wash over him. George turns to you, finding nothing but concern and worry alight in your eyes and written across your face. His heart doubles in size at the sight of it; your clear apprehension at telling this story for the fear of hurting his feelings only deepening his feelings for you.

You care, he realises. You truly care about him.

“George,” You whisper, “I don’t have to tell this story. I can tell you another one – the Seven Sisters, or Altair and Vega. The choice is yours.”

George shakes his head, stepping away from the telescope and settling down on the blankets that were spread across the floor. He had to hear this, he realised. He has worked and worked through his grief; he had spoken about it, he had ignored it, he had written about it. It hadn’t gone away; it had simply evolved into part of him – something he would carry around until his very last day on this planet.

No, he had to hear this. He had to hear whether there was another way his grief could be addressed. Meeting your gaze, George smiles reassuringly, holding out a hand for you in a gesture signalling for you to join him on the blankets.

“I want to hear it,” He asserts as you settle next to him.

“Are you sure?”

He nods once more, fidgeting on the blankets, getting comfy.

“The constellation Gemini is made up of two twins named Castor and Pollux. To this day, there is debate of their lineage. In some accounts, they are written as if divine, but in others, they are simply mortal men.

“Castor was born to the mortal king, Tyndarus while Pollux was born to the King of Gods, Zeus. Being identical twins, Castor and Pollux were inseparable. They were two halves of a whole. Castor was a great horseman; Pollux was a born warrior. So great in fact, that they travelled with Jason on the Argo and saved the ship from a terrible storm that would have killed them and the crew.”

You take a deep breath before plundering on with the story, “Castor was killed in battle. He wasn’t to survive; not being the mortal son of a mortal king. Pollux was devastated at the loss of his brother, his closest friend. He begged, pleaded with his own father, Zeus. Pollux asked the King of the Gods to bring Castor back, to bring him back to Pollux so they could have more time. 

“Zeus agreed. He immortalised both Castor and Pollux in the stars, creating the constellation Gemini. To this day, the twins are still together – no longer separated by the veil of death.”

Neither of you speak as you finish your story. You refuse to utter a word, barely even breathing as you wait for George, all the while thinking that this was not the story to have told a man still grieving the loss of his twin brother. In this metaphor, George seems to be Pollux. Fred, the mortal Castor.

“He’s still with me,” George whispers into the night air, “I swear I sometimes feel him around me. It’s been years, but I swear I can hear him tell me to stop being a prat when I need to hear it.”

You smile softly, “He isn’t ever going to leave you. Those we love leave a mark on us that won’t ever fade; their love remains with us even when we think we don’t deserve it.”

“Thank you for telling me the story of Castor and Pollux,” George comments, reaching for your hand across the blankets and squeezes tight.

“You’re welcome.”

“I want to repay you,” George states, sitting up further.

“For what?” You ask, entirely puzzled.

“For Castor and Pollux, for Andromeda and Perseus, for Altair and Vega. For coming to my classroom and making me laugh,” He lists, counting off the reasons on his fingers, “For helping me with my grief when I didn’t know I needed help.”

“You don’t need to repay me,” You comment, “It’s what friends do.”

“I think we’re more than friends at this point, (Y/N),” George states bluntly, “Friends don’t spend their Friday nights regaling the stories of lovers in the past. They don’t tell each their darkest secrets and deepest worries like we do. Friends don’t make my heart race the way that you do.”

“I’d hope not,” You joke, “Otherwise Flitwick is going to get a shock when he’s told.”

“Let me take you to dinner,” George prompts, ignoring your attempt at humour, grasping to his straws of confidence before they fall through his fingers and he loses his chance.

“You want to be more than friends?” You ask, needing clarification before you answer.

“I want to be friends with you, but I want to be the one you wake up to, and I want to be the one you tell the stories of the stars to,” George admits; eyes shining with honesty, voice close to breaking with the sheer scale of emotions running through his body.

“I want to tell you the stories of the stars too,” You whisper, “So long as you teach me how to brew a decent potion.”

George throws his head back at your unexpected answer, laughing as he does so. “Let’s make a deal,” He begins, “Go to dinner with me, and tell me more stories of the stars, and I’ll teach you how to brew a potion.”

A slow smile spreads across your face as you start nod your head, wordlessly accepting his terms. George’s answering grin in breathtaking; relief flooding his body and affection for you rushing to his heart.

He thinks back to that second Tuesday in March when he initially read McGonagall’s job offer, and he wonders whether the last year of his life had always been written in the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a kudos and a comment if you enjoyed!
> 
> Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite


End file.
